by Darcy Burke
“What should I call you?” she asked.
“What you always called me.”
She clamped her lips together and looked instantly more like a governess than the woman who’d captivated him as a lad. “I can’t do that. You’re a duke, and I’m a governess. We shouldn’t even be standing here talking.” She abruptly turned and started along the gallery.
Val stepped out of his private sitting room and leapt after her. He reached for her elbow, and the moment his hand closed around her sleeve, he felt a swooning sensation in the pit of his belly.
She pulled her arm from his grip with a gasp. Turning toward him, her eyes blazing a cold fire, she opened her mouth, and he actually leaned toward her, craving her indignation. She’d delivered him so many set downs when he’d begun to flirt with her. It had taken months for her to finally admit she was attracted to him too.
But he never got to hear what she was about to say, because they’d stopped in front of Barkley’s room, and the door opened to reveal the baron.
Barkley looked from Val to Isabelle and back to Val again. “I see you’ve met our governess.”
“Yes—”
Anything Val might have said next was drowned out by her response. “Yes, we’ve just met. I’m afraid I got turned around looking for the stairs. His Grace was kind enough to direct me. If you’ll just excuse me.”
Val looked toward her, narrowing his eyes slightly. They’d just met?
Her gaze met his, and in the depths of her eyes, he saw a silent plea. Apparently, she didn’t want him to say they knew each other. What did she think he would do, reveal the extent to which they knew each other?
“Before you rush off, Mrs. …”
“Cortland,” she supplied.
Not knowing her name certainly supported her insistence that they’d just met. To him, she’d been Isabelle Highmore, the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.
“Before you rush off, Mrs. Cortland, I do hope you’ll join us for dinner.”
Isabelle looked toward Barkley, who inclined his head, then returned her attention to Val. “What time shall I have the girls ready?”
The girls? Barkley’s daughters. Val hadn’t invited them. But to exclude them now, in front of their father no less, would be rude. The fact was that he didn’t even want Barkley at the bloody dinner. He wanted Isabelle alone so he could learn every single thing she’d done in the past decade.
“Seven,” Val said.
Isabelle dipped a curtsey and turned. Val tried very hard not to stare at her swaying backside as she walked to the other end of the gallery. With great reluctance, he turned to Barkley. “How long has Mrs. Cortland been in your employ?”
Barkley cocked his head to the side and stuck his lower lip out while he pondered the question. “Going on five years now, I think. Yes, has to be five. When Caroline had her fifth birthday, we hired Mrs. Cortland to tutor the girls. When she wrote and said who her father had been, I knew she was perfect for the job. Truth be told, she’s more clever than I imagined a woman could be.”
Val stared at the man, momentarily bereft of speech at his implication. Rather than call out Barkley’s rudeness—and idiocy—Val ignored the asinine comment. Unlike Barkley, Val wasn’t the least surprised by Isabelle’s intellect. She’d always had her nose in a book. It was one of the things he’d liked best about her. In fact, the times they’d sat together on a bench outside simply reading side by side were some of his favorite memories. “It sounds as though you are quite fortunate to have Mrs. Cortland.”
“Indeed we are,” Barkley said with a nod. “Are we still having that glass of brandy before dinner?”
Val wanted to interrogate Barkley about Isabelle—did she still love Voltaire, and did she still snort if she laughed too hard? Instead, he pasted on a smile and clapped the baron on his shoulder. “Yes, let’s.”
They went downstairs, and all Val could think of was the woman upstairs and how in the hell he was going to get her alone.
Chapter 2
He couldn’t mean for her to sit next to him.
Isabelle stared at the chair to the right of the head of the table, where Val—she couldn’t help but think of him by what she’d called him ten years ago no matter how hard she tried—would undoubtedly sit.
“Sorry to be running late,” Val said as he strode into the dining room, causing them all to turn. “I had an urgent matter.” Smiling, he went to his chair and looked around at them—Lord Barkley to his left, Beatrice to her father’s left, Caroline across from Beatrice, and Isabelle next to her. As well as next to Val.
“Shall we sit?” their host suggested, and Isabelle had her answer. Yes, he absolutely meant for her to sit beside him.
Logically, it made sense for the two adults to sit closest to the head of the table. That didn’t stop Isabelle from wondering if he had a motive. Was that because she wanted him to have one?
Mentally chiding herself, she took her seat and resisted the urge to drink her entire glass of wine to calm her nerves. Instead, she didn’t even take a sip, reasoning that she needed to keep every wit about her.
“I hope you’re all settled in,” Val said. “And that you’ll let Sadler know if there is anything you require.”
“It’s just splendid, Your Grace,” Lord Barkley said jovially as the first course was served. “Capital of you to open your bachelor home to our family.” He chuckled good-naturedly.
Isabelle waited for her employer to ask about the need for a schoolroom. She’d brought it up when they’d arrived in the dining room. When he said nothing, she contemplated how she might broach the subject. However, before she could do so, Caroline beat them all to it.
The youngest person at the table addressed their host without blinking. “Actually, Your Grace, we do need something.”
Her father shot her a look of pure horror. “Caroline, you will not speak unless His Grace addresses you.”
“It’s quite all right,” Val said, looking toward Caroline with a warm smile. “What do you need?”
“A schoolroom.” She glanced at lsabelle. “Mrs. Cortland suggested we might use your library.”
“Did she?” Val murmured.
Though Isabelle didn’t look at him—she was trying so hard not to—she felt his gaze sweeping over her like a warm summer breeze, welcome and invigorating.
“If you have a library,” Beatrice put in.
“I most certainly have a library, and it is at your disposal.”
Lord Barkley frowned at his daughters. “We don’t wish to put you out.” He turned a flattering smile toward Val. “I’d planned to ask you about a space for them to learn. Later.”
“There is no inconvenience.” He looked directly at Isabelle, and she couldn’t ignore him. Nor could she afford to lose herself in the depths of his still-seductive gaze. “Tell me when you need the library, and it’s yours.”
She could almost imagine he’d said, Tell me when you need me, and I’m yours. But he hadn’t, of course, and she silently cursed her fanciful, traitorous mind.
Isabelle averted her eyes. It was so hard to look at him and not feel a jolt of awareness. Or worse, longing. “We conduct lessons in the morning and again in the afternoon, though I anticipate spending some afternoons on excursions while we’re in London.”
“The library shall be yours every morning and in the afternoons. I will make sure you are as undisturbed as possible.”
“Thank you.” Isabelle met his eyes again and was instantly taken back to a decade ago, to a time when someone had looked at her like that, as if he wanted to know her—as if he did know her. Aside from a close connection to Beatrice and Caroline as their governess, she’d been utterly alone these past six years, and to feel this sense of…belonging was almost overwhelming.
She spent the rest of the dinner struggling to appear serene and unaffected whilst the memory of her time with Val and his current proximity made her heart pound and her insides flutter. She feared Lord Barkley would detect the
familiarity between them and demand to know what was going on. Would it be terrible to admit they’d known each other—platonically, of course—once? Perhaps not, but it was a risk she dare not take.
When dinner was over, Isabelle was relieved to remove the girls from the dining room with the utmost haste. After seeing them to bed, she’d hurried to her third-floor retreat, where she prepared for bed and immediately buried her nose in a book that couldn’t hope to hold her attention.
After an hour, she was about to give up when a light knock drew her to turn her head toward the door. Her first thought was that it could be Val. Just as quickly, she told herself that was silly. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to visit her up here. She was simply allowing him too much space in her head. No more.
It was likely Caroline, who sometimes grew scared in the night and would come to Isabelle’s room. It happened less now than it had in years past, but they were in a strange house.
Isabelle set her book on the tiny nightstand and slipped from her narrow bed. The room was smaller than what she was used to, but it had a window with a charming view of the garden below.
She opened the door and sucked in a breath. “Val.”
Garbed in the immaculately tailored suit of clothing he’d worn to dinner, he grinned, and her entire body heated in response. “You do remember my name.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” That was all she managed to get out before he pushed past her and strode into the room.
He frowned as he surveyed the chamber. “This is very small.”
“You act as though you’ve never been up here.”
“Not never, but not in some time.” He straightened and gave her a decisive nod. “I’ll move you downstairs.”
Closer to him. That was a terrible notion. “No, you won’t.”
He took a step toward her, the frown returning. “A governess isn’t a servant.”
“Nor is she a member of the family.” Footsteps on the stairs filled her with alarm. “You need to go. You can’t be in here.”
He rotated his head, presenting his ear toward the door and took another step forward. “Is someone coming?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
“Then I can’t very well leave. I’d walk right by whoever it is.” He sounded utterly unconcerned.
Isabelle closed the door with a firm click. Then she spun around to glare at him. “Are you trying to get me tossed out?”
“I would never toss you out. And no, I’m not trying to have your employment terminated. Though I will say I never imagined I’d see you as a governess.” His gaze dipped over her as if he were assessing what he had seen her as—and she didn’t want to know.
Too aware of his lingering attention and the fact that she wore only a night rail covered with a rather thin dressing gown, she crossed her arms across her chest and gave him a cool stare. “You need to go.”
“And I shall. Soon. After we…talk.” He looked around the room once more, and his gaze settled on the diminutive chair situated in the corner next to her miniscule nightstand.
“We have nothing to talk about,” Isabelle said.
He moved to the chair and sat down. “Come now, after a decade, there is plenty to discuss. I could sit here with you all night.”
All night. They’d done that once. But they hadn’t been sitting. Or talking. Well, there had been some talking. And some sitting…of sorts. She blushed at the memory.
He gave her a sly look. “What are you thinking about?”
She shook her head, pushing the recollection away. “Nothing. Really, you need to go. I can’t allow you to jeopardize my position.”
“We could just have told Barkley that we’re old friends.”
Isabelle squeezed her fingertips into her biceps. “We aren’t.”
“Yes, we are. We wouldn’t have to tell him the part about being lovers.” He said it so casually, so offhandedly, as if it were absolutely ordinary. How could it be when it had been the most extraordinary experience of her life? When she measured her days in terms of before Val and after Val? “Why did you lie to him and say we’d just met?” His query fished her back from the abyss of the past.
“It seemed easier.” And safer. They’d had to hide even their friendship at Oxford. The students were not allowed to fraternize with women, particularly the daughters of wardens who were, in turn, not supposed to fraternize with the students. They’d stolen time together here and there, mostly just to talk and read and talk about what they’d read.
He was staring at her as if he expected her to say more. As if he expected her to say she’d been wrong and of course they could reveal their friendship.
“You really need to go,” she repeated.
Naturally, he didn’t move. He’d always been stubborn, especially in their debates. His gaze strayed to her nightstand, and he picked up the battered book she’d set atop it. “Still reading French literature, I see. Oh, and it’s one of our favorites.” He gave her a dazzling smile.
“It was one of my favorites before it was one of yours.”
“True. I keep a copy in my bedchamber.” His gaze met hers, and the intensity of his stare made her knees weak.
“Why?” Where had that word come from? She hadn’t thought it, but her lips had whispered it.
“Because it reminds me of you.” He set down her worn copy of Les Liaisons dangereuses.
“Val, you really have to go.” She sounded like a parrot that only knew how to say one thing.
He rose from the chair and came around the bed. “If you insist, but first tell me why you’re a governess. What happened to your husband?”
“I told you, he died.”
“Didn’t he leave you any money?”
“What he left me with was debt, which my inheritance from my father settled. Thankfully, I am able to provide for myself. I’m quite happy in my current position.” While that was true, it wasn’t what she’d ever expected. She’d expected her own household, a husband, children.
“You had no children with him?” Val asked, seeming to have followed the course of her thoughts.
“You are too familiar,” she said, growing uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation—because she could find comfort in it. When was the last time someone had spoken to her, really spoken to her?
“I should hope so,” he said softly. “I know you rather well.” He’d moved to stand just in front of her, so close that she could easily put her hands on him.
“You knew me. That was a long time ago.” And yet his scent of pine and sandalwood was as familiar as the book on her nightstand.
“Can you be that different?” He studied her, his eyes caressing her as if he touched her.
She suddenly longed for that touch, as she had on so many occasions in the last decade, particularly in the early years. Over time, she’d learned to store her memories of him in the back of her mind, only bringing them forth when she allowed herself to feel vulnerable.
“Yes. As you must be.” Like her, he’d been wed. The marriage had to have affected him, as hers had impacted her. “I was sorry to read in the newspaper that your wife had died.”
His jaw tightened, but only for a moment, and she wondered if she’d imagined the reaction. “We have both been unlucky in marriage, it seems.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Marriage was something they had never discussed. She’d never dreamed a duke could marry someone like her, and he’d certainly never offered. They’d stolen their one night together and knew it would have to last them forever.
She still couldn’t quite grasp that he was standing in front of her. That she could reach out and touch him. Or that there was a bed right behind him.
“You have to go.” She turned toward the door.
He moved to stand in front of it, putting his back against the wood. “And I will. This is just so…strange. And wonderful. Don’t you think so?” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I never thought to see you again, and yet here you a
re. It feels like a gift.”
She blinked and tipped her head to the side, wondering what he meant exactly and not daring to presume. “Of what?”
He glanced up toward the low ceiling. “I don’t know… It’s just unexpected.”
It was past time to put an end to whatever he was trying to do. “I will only be here a fortnight. I will try to stay out of your way, and I expect you to do the same, just as I expect you to keep our past… secret. I can’t afford to lose this position.” Besides, she loved Beatrice and Caroline, and she would be devastated to leave them before they no longer needed her. Even then, it would be difficult.
“If you lose your position—which you won’t—I’ll take care of you.”
The air escaped her lungs in a whoosh, and she gaped at him, her arms dropping to her sides. “You aren’t propositioning—”
His eyes widened. “No, no. I wasn’t. I only meant that you needn’t ever worry about your future. I would ensure you are safe.”
“You can’t do that. That would be…scandalous!” Her father would spin in his grave.
“No one would need to know.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not a woman of loose morals.” But she had been. Once. With him. “What happened between us was a mistake.” She looked away because she couldn’t bear to look at him as she told the lie she’d forced herself to believe.
“Don’t say that.” His voice was low and dark and raw.
“It’s the truth. Now, go. Please.” She looked at him then, her gaze pleading. “Your Grace.”
He pressed his lips together, his mouth tensing. Then he did the unthinkable. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. Her body wanted to lean forward and fall against him, to welcome his touch, to seek it. Steeling herself, she stood ramrod still as her insides threatened to loosen and fall apart.
“I still care for you, and I would help you. All you need do is ask.” He dropped his hand, then turned and left.
As soon as the door was closed, she placed her palm against the wood. The heat of him was still there from where he’d pressed up against it. He would help her if she’d just ask… He could probably make her dream of starting a school for girls come true, but she wouldn’t ask. She couldn’t.